James B. Kenyon - Rizpah lyrics

Blown through the gusty spaces of the night, The pale clouds fleet like ghosts along the sky; A fitful wind goes moaning feebly by, And the faint moon, poised o'er the craggy height, Dies in its own uncertain, misty light. Within the hills the water-springs are dry; The herbs are withered; and the sand-wastes lie Dim, wide, and lonely to the weary sight. Behold! her awful vigil she will keep Through the wan night as through the burning day; Though all the world should sleep she will not sleep, But watch, wild-eyed and fierce, to scare away, As round and round, with hoarse, low cries they creep, From her dead sons the hungry beasts of prey.